


The Place Where Lost Things Go

by lemon7199



Category: Mary Poppins (Movies), Mary Poppins - All Media Types, Mary Poppins Returns (2018), Mary Poppins Returns - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Movie: Mary Poppins Returns, Reminiscing, Songfic, The place where lost things go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 12:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon7199/pseuds/lemon7199
Summary: (songfic: The Place Where Lost Things Go) Mary Poppins lies awake, not knowing what to make of these feelings she's been feeling lately. Something's missing.





	The Place Where Lost Things Go

**Author's Note:**

> i own nothing (sadly)  
> obligatory this ain't my first language, please leave criticism with this in mind

_Do you ever lie awake at night?_

_Just between the dark and the morning light_

_Searching for the things you used to know_

_Looking for the place where the lost things go_

Mary stirred, her blankets paralyzingly heavy. Outside of her window, the night lay solid still, but the first tentative rays of sunlight were within the hour. Her door was slightly ajar, and through it a small child was visible. The latest of Mary’s charges was sound asleep, her blanket had fallen off during her restless stirring. Her father was a man who had found love on the bottom of a pint when his wife had passed away. His daughter, only five years old, had lost all sense of innocence and imagination when the wind had blown her way. Mary was well on her way to help the poor child regain it.

Mary sighed, tearing her eyes from the sleeping child and focused her gaze on the windowsill. An ounce of dust covered the wood, twinkling dimly in the moonlight. It should have bothered Mary, should have made her irritated, but it didn’t. Her emotions were duller than they used to be. Not even her work made her feel better. It just made her feel empty. Especially during the nights, when the absence of sleep plagued her. It had never been a nuisance before.

_Do you ever dream or reminisce?_

_Wondering where to find what you truly miss_

_Well maybe all those things that you love so_

_Are waiting in the place where the lost things go_

Mary had always taken pride in not missing things. She often went weeks and months without seeing her uncle and cousins, traveled the world as the wind saw fit, and never felt as though there was nothing she couldn’t do. She didn’t fantasize, either. It was fairly ridiculous to wish for things that one had no use for, either way. If it was meant to be, it happened, and if not, it didn’t. However, along with her latest nightly restlessness, a weird feeling was growing in the pit of her stomach. The feeling itself was nothing new, it was a feeling she related to leaving her charges, to saying goodbye to someone dear.

_Memories you've shed, gone for good you feared_

_They're all around you still though they've disappeared_

_Nothing's really left or lost without a trace_

_Nothing's gone forever_

_Only out of place_

The blanket did not substitute well for the feeling of strong arms around her waist, and the feeling of a chin leaning against her shoulder. Mary used to reprimand him, to tell him off for leaving soot all over her finest coat. She would only get a laugh and a kiss on the cheek in response. It had been long now since her coat was last covered in soot, nearly nine years since she’d left Jane and Michael Banks to go fly a kite. They had grown into fine children and even finer young adults. Did they remember her now? Did he? Mary had dared to look into the Banks children’s progression, as she did with all of her charges, but she hadn’t dared to look at him.

_So maybe now the dish and my best spoon_

_Are playing hide and seek just behind the moon_

_Waiting there until it's time to show_

_Spring is like that now far beneath the snow_

_Hiding in the place where the lost things go_

He would be older now, of course he would. Perhaps he had found himself someone special, someone to remember now that Mary most certainly was forgotten. She could find out, of course she could, but she hadn’t dared. The pit in her stomach grew bigger, hungrier, and she wrapped her arms around herself. They weren’t a good substitute either. Mary jerked her head as a creak spread through the floorboards, and she sat up. She hadn’t noticed it before, but her pillow was wet from tears. She dried her eyes carefully, pursed her lips and went to find out why her charge was out of bed at such an unreasonable hour.

_Time to close your eyes so sleep can come around_

_For when you dream you find all that's lost is found_

_Maybe on the moon or maybe somewhere new_

_Maybe all you're missing lives inside of you_

Mary sat on her bedside, a red dressing-gown wrapped tightly around her, fastened with a proper knot on her waist. The child in front of her was once again drifting off to sleep, more peacefully this time. She missed her parents, of course she did. Her mother gone, and her father not himself, it wasn’t much of a surprise. Nothing that a good cry and a hug didn’t cure. Mary had sat with the child crawled up in her lap until her tears had dried and eyelids hung low. They were both missing someone, longing for someone. The girl was going to get better. Mary doubted that she was.

_So when you need his touch and loving gaze_

_Gone but not forgotten is the perfect phrase_

_Smiling from a star that he makes glow_

_Trust he's always there watching as you grow_

_Find him in the place where the lost things go_

Mary took the candle in her hand, leaving the girl in her bed with one last gentle stroke over her cheek. She pursed her lips tightly, breathing deeply through the nose and pushed the window in her bedroom open. Chilly London air filled Mary’s lungs as she sat down on the windowsill. Puffs of air enveloped Mary, playing with locks of her hair. On the street, people had begun to show. A paperboy almost flew by on his bike, the newspaper hitting the front porch with a soft thump. A couple of lamplighters had begun putting out the lights on their morning route, and a chimney sweep was climbing down a ladder from the house opposite. Mary smiled sadly, leaning her head against the window frame as she imagined the sweeper to be him, to be her sweeper, to walk up to her with that silly smile on his face, soot on his nose. He would give a small bow, as he usually did, tip his cap and greet her.

“‘Ello, Mary Poppins”

Mary lept off the windowsill and threw herself around Bert. She didn’t care that her dressing-gown was getting covered in soot and grime, or that she was standing in the middle of the street dressed for bed. His strong arms around her, the soft chuckle getting tangled in with her hair and the smell of chalk and sweat and quite positively **him**.

Mary didn’t care where lost things went, or that the world most possibly soon wouldn’t need of a nanny. Someone needed her, and Mary needed him.


End file.
